Chess Pieces
by sorainier
Summary: If only he could begin again, he would. If only he could choose a different fate, he would. If only he could arrange them as he liked, he would. He would rearrange his Chess Pieces on his favourite chess board.
1. Chapter 1: From Aside

**I shouldn't be doing this. Copy-N-Paste is wonderful.**

* * *

Chapter 1: From Aside

* * *

It has been a while since his death.

A while since a little bit of happiness didn't lead to a whole lot of mess.

And, perhaps, a while since anyone even _had_ a bit of happiness in their life.

Albus Dumbledore gave a small _hmph_ as he watched from Aside. A small part of him felt guilt for laying such a heavy burden upon his three students' shoulders. But most of him was content to believe he was fighting for the greater cause. To be honest, he didn't know what was right anymore. After all they were both fighting for what they believed were right. As a professor, such tenacity was one to be complimented. Yes, that was what he should've done. _Complimented_ that poor boy Tom —Merlin have mercy on his soul (if he had any left)— instead of shunning him, like a bully he was! Now that was Aberforth's job (although he was more of a saviour-bully.)

The Battle of Hogwarts had been going on for days. He'd let out small _eeks_ and _ahhs_ as his co-workers, friends, and oh even enemies fall, his yet fragile heart (even after death!) giving small flutters and occasional jumps.

Albus was sad, very sad at how things turned out.

He watched Tom, whom stood on he right side of his vision ( _oh irony_ , he chuckled). Then, he looked at Harry, whom was on the left side of his vision. The similarity between those two made his poor heart ache even more. If he let his mind wander far enough, he might've been able to convince himself they even looked identical. Black hair, blue and green eyes. Just different upbringings, the other in a much harsher environment.

He gave one last tut at Bellatrix Lestrange —just finished killing a young Ravenclaw boy he saw— before searching for the other two of his heroes. Ronald was fighting back to back with his brother Fred. Oh the years! Where have they gone?

Hermione Granger was handling two minor Death Eaters at once. She shot spell after spell, dodging and twirling to avoid jinxes, she might've been as well as dancing in the battlefield. She made battle look beautiful. "Oh-Ho!" Albus cheered as Hermione stunned one man and sent the other clash into the ceiling before rushing off to help her friend. She was the brain. He knew that obviously, and did accept the fact them at perhaps without her Harry and Mr. Weasley might have not succeeded in finding those horcruxes. If —Merlin forbid— he was to find a corresponding character within Tom's ranks, she would probably be Bellatrix. An eye averting truth, but truth nonetheless.

Hermione was redemption. He noticed how she would never send incurable spells towards her enemies, while he caught sight of the others sending one or two illegal spells that way (though he chose to go to the bathroom and read Muggle magazines when this happened). If only Hermione was there in the place of Bellatrix...

Albus's face brightened up at the idea.

He could take Tom, or Hermione, out of their respectable time and replace it with someone else. Now he knew he was the one who told Miss Granger all those years ago that bad things happened to those who meddled with time. Well he's dead anyway, and the big lady dressed in white robes did say he could have one last wish granted before moving on. The change would be temporarily anyway, just for this old heart's content. He'll have everyone's memories wiped clean, just to see what happens if Miss Granger was to replace Miss Black...

Alighted with a new goal to reach, Albus skipped down the stairs (skipping one or two steps but he did not stumble, no not anymore!) to the big lady.

The world is his chess board, and he shall be the player.


	2. Chapter 2: New Beginnings

Does anyone else have an unhealthy obsession with Deadpool and Superman?

Jenna and El'Deva both are my Toms! Thank you xx

 _ **Albus Dumbledore's thoughts**_

* * *

 **Chapter 2: New Beginnings**

* * *

"Good afternoon class."

"Good afternooooon Missus Cole!"

Charlotte Cole gave a small smile at her class and asked them to sit down.

She watched with content as her small class erupted in chatters and giggles. This was her first year as a teacher, she was determined to make it succeed. All those years she's tolerated as an assistant had finally paid off. No more Umbridge! No more coffee stains on her blouse! No more kittens and pink!

The first assignment the class had was to draw a picture of each other. She started pairing off the students, having a terrible time hiding the grin that threatened to break through as she listened to the complaints and squeals of delight.

"Tom, why don't you pair with Jemma..."

 ** _No! That won't do, that won't do!_**

"...no that won't do...no, why don't you pair with dear Hermione there? Jemma, you go pair with Sharna."

Jemma squealed and ran over to her friend as they both had a fit of giggles. Hermione on the other hand, didn't look too happy. She had her lips pursed, her pudgy hands clasping the sketchbook tightly as she walked uncertainly towards the boy. The boy, on the other hand, stubbornly held onto a book —Charles Dickens, Charlotte noticed with mild surprise— and continued to ignore her even after she sat next to him.

"Tom dear," Charlotte called, trying not to flinch when the young boy shot her a glare. "Do try and be helpful. You can read that book later!"

"Of course, Missus Cole."

With a relieved smile, Charlotte sat back and continued to watch the children draw, and allowed herself to be swallowed by the cheerful air.

* * *

Charlotte rolled her stiff shoulders and settled herself on her armchair next to the fireplace. It was the least to say her first day was a success. Not a single trouble, unlike the stories she'd heard of Umbridge's first day. _In your face, pussy face!_ The relaxing aroma of her mother's hot chocolate soon wafted through the house. Taking a sip, Charlotte reached out to the pile of drawings she collected earlier today. They were all colourful, some of them indescribable creatures. Charlotte let out a giggle, occasionally stopping to sip her drink. On one particular drawing, Charlotte stopped her hand. Colourful? Indescribable creature? It was far as a bat could be from a unicorn.

She immediately recognised it as Hermione. _So then the drawer is Tom_. It was not exactly photographically similar, but he caught her main features well. The splatter of freckles, the frizz of her hair, the unconscious smile and the small crease between her brows. It was an exceptional talent. When did a five year-old manage to draw all that in such a short time?

Finishing up her drink, Charlotte stretched, ready for a hot bath. She plucked up a photo-stand on the round table next to her, smiling sadly at it before replacing it face down. The shrill ring of the phone echoed, fishing her out from her stupor.

"Hello? Oh Mrs. Granger! Why yes, I'm fine thank you. To be honest I was a bit nervous, but everyone was very good! Oh don't you worry, Hermione was wonderful. Never expected a five year-old to right me in pronunciation," Charlotte nibbled on her nails. "Is that so? I'm truly sorry —no please, don't mind me! I'm sure Hermione will make friends in no time. Yes of course. Have a good night, Mrs. Granger."

Sighing, Charlotte replaced the receiver. The spacious apartment was overly large as it already was, but now it seemed to be closing in. Even with the fireplace crackling with lively fire, her hands and feet were unnaturally cold. Clutching her arms, Charlotte tried to contain the shivers, shaking her head furiously to escape from the nervous babbling that started to bubble up in her head.

"Oh bath, bath, bath..."

* * *

"Okay class, before you leave, I have an important announcement to make."

A week went and gone since the start of term. She was proud to say her class was the most peaceful of the five, and they basically won every Ball Game (the ball never seemed to reach their end of the court). She'd kept a keen eye on Hermione —her excuse was that so she could be next to her whenever she was upset. But then she would be lying, if only partly. A small part of her (no that would be lying) was curious as to how Hermione would handle the disappearance of her father.

 ** _Disappearance of her father? No, that wasn't supposed to happen..._**

It wasn't supposed to happen. How could such a devastating thing happen to a sweet young girl like Hermione? Charlotte had had her share of devastation —it wasn't pretty. She was a zombie left behind in the living world, all those whom she believed would stand beside her turning their backs, leaving her without her crutches. Even after all these times she still wanted to claw her eyes out, let herself wither into nothing, allow the comforting feeling of nothingness overtake her senses. She'd happily bleed out her life if it meant the pain would go away. Now, that was not the case. She had a roomful of children to take care of, a roomful of her new hope. She remained skeptical of her mother's teachings ("As we are humans, we believe that love will heal everything. It has a ring of truth in them, Lottie"), but that didn't mean she denied it full on.

She beckoned Hermione to stand beside her. Clutching her small frame, Charlotte said aloud: "Hermione here has been a great friend to us. Only a week has gone since we've known each other, but she was a definite part of the class, an important part. For a fact, I know some of you had help from her on homework—" Charlotte squinted her eyes playfully at the children, earning her a rupture of giggles. "—and I know some of you made new friends through Hermione. Sadly, we must say goodbye to our friend Hermione, as she is going to a new school. I know you're sad, but we want to respect her family's decision, and bid her farewell like a grown up. Can we do that?"

"Yes, Missus Cole," the class replied in unison.

Just as the class dispersed, the lady from the office came jogging into the class, tugging Charlotte by the sleeve and lead her outside.

 ** _Oh-ho, not letting go that easily!_**

"I'm _really_ sorry the notice was late," the petite women caught her breath, shoving a handful of paper into Charlotte's hands. "Another student from your class is leaving too. What was his name...oh here it is."

Slipping out a piece of paper , the woman placed it on the very top, her neatly clipped and painted manicure pointing at the photo of a certain dark haired boy.

"Tom Riddle."

* * *

Letting out a happy sigh, Albus Dumbledore stored his chess board away in a safe location. He let out a shiver, flapping his arms like a chicken once or twice unconsciously. Having another him back on earth was just bone-chillingly _exciting_. Like a puppet of his own! It went rather well, in his opinion, even if it was his first try. He'd always been good at playing games, beating Aberforth in every game he challenged him to, even when Aberforth had years of experience before him. It was only a matter of time before he would get the hang of this game too, then he would play it exceedingly. His chess pieces were a bit strong in will; the results were shown as the disappearance of Hermione's father (really?), and Tom not pairing with Hermione every chance he had! Without guidance, they would wander to Merlin knows where. And to think he personally set it up so that Tom would have a better life! He would need to tame them. And he would.

Flapping his arms again, Dumbledore went down the stairs from his tower to the kitchen. He was hoping for a cup of chicken soup over a nice conversation with Emily Rappaport.


	3. Chapter 3: 11 Years Old

**THANKS TO: EVERYONE WHO FAVOURITED AND FOLLOWED AND REVIEWED xx**

 **(keep it cooooming it fuels my brain)**

 **Unbeta-ed (tell me if there are any odd mistakes please:D)**

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Chapter Three

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To Hermione, returning to a home where her mother awaited was the most ordinary thing she could imagine. At first she'd been curious as to where her father had gone when her birthday was coming up the next week. She vaguely remembered red blotches on her mother's face as she tried to explain that her father had gone missing.

Using all the spare time she had —also reading Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie more than necessary— she tried to unveil the mystery behind her father's disappearance. Imagining the applause, look of admiration on people's eyes as she walked down the aisle to embrace her worn but unharmed father as the policemen saluted, only to be whacked in the head by Missus Mosley's textbook while the whole class suppressed (not really) sniggers.

Several more months and her father would be 'legally dead'. She didn't know what happened to people after they were dead to everyone's eyes (she knew he was to her mother's) but she knew he wouldn't appreciate it. Not when he was alive (hopefully) somewhere out there.

"Morning Tom," Hermione called out automatically as the tall, gangly and extremely unhealthy looking boy rushed past her, hissing furious under his breath. Hermione considered Tom and herself having 'unsavoury ties', even though she rarely spoke to him. Who are you kidding Hermione? You've never talked to him before. "Morning Jessica." "Morning Risa," Hermione called simple my out of reflex as she marched into her classroom without waiting for their reply (and they didn't offer one).

She dumped her bulky brown backpack onto her desk and pulled out her notebook, or the cluebook as she liked to called it, flipping the pages to where she kept the picture of her father. She traced his face with her short, dirty fingernail. It was a part of her routine since she found this picture of her father holding a younger version of herself in her arms.

A gust of wind entered Hermione's classroom, ruffling the leaves in a notebook, knocking off pencils and turning over girls' skirts in its wake, and finally snatched the photo out of Hermione's grasp.

"No!" Hermione screamed, pushing away the girls standing in her way, only to watch helplessly as the flimsy material sailed over the window cell. _Come back! Come back!_ Hermione screamed inside. Tears swelled up in her brown eyes and before them, the wind came to a sudden stop, dropping her precious photo carelessly toward the ground.

Hermione's classroom was located on the second floor; unfortunately, below it was a pond full of frog spawns. Hermione watched it sadly, about to turn away when the picture eluded the pond and was plucked up from the air by a pale hand. Hermione's eyes snapped up, surprised when it met Tom's blank gaze. _This_ _is like Romeo and Juliet,_ Hermione thought. She continued to gape at him stupidly until he raised one delicate eyebrow. That's when Hermione flushed and ran down two flights of stairs.

* * *

Mrs. Joch ("Yo- _ck_ , it's missus _yo-ck_ ") was one of the many teachers who had been corrected by Hermione in their class; hence the hatred. More than once would she 'accidentally' kick her bag, and then scald her for leaving it in the pathway.

Today was no different from any other day. However, Mrs. Joch was in an especially foul mood this morning as the principle gave her a warning against her way of punishment towards the students. She glared at each and every one of the students, trying to determine which one of those brats ratted her out. She read aloud from a textbook in her dull, flat voice as she walked throughout the class, causing anyone sitting near the aisle to contort their face as a pang of sickeningly sweet perfume hit their senses.

It was probably just her luck that Hermione chose this day to not pay attention to class. It's been almost 3 years since she started collecting clues and analysing her father's behaviour. Her earlier notes were scrawls and unintelligible scribbles, and lately her 'cluebook' were overfilled with random notes and napkins she wrote on. Deciding that she wouldn't be able to organise her notes at home (laundry, babysitting little Bob from next door, and homework), she decided to organise them during Mrs. Jock's class, deeming that it was the most unimportant class of the day.

"...Elizabeth the First was also called the Virgin Queen, as she never married to have children. One of her famous quote... 'I have already joined myself if marriage...'"

 _Dad went to the supermarket for eggs and then talked to Mrs Arabella Figg...Mrs Figg didn't report any suspicious behaviour_ —

"Ahem."

The notebook was ripped away from her hands in an instant. Mindlessly, Hermione sprung it her foot, lounging towards Mrs. Joch's ugly, grimy, drooping face—

 _SLAP_

A sour taste filled her mouth, the stinging spreading down the right side of her face. Tears swelled up in her right eye, just on the verge of spelling over. Clutching her throbbing cheek, Hermione turned towards her teacher, shock evident on her face.

"Pay attention," Mrs. Joch said smugly, tearing the paper notebook down the spine and tucking it under her armpit. "Now, as I was saying..."

Hermione couldn't contain her glee when the paperwork on Mrs. Joch's desk exploded in her face, causing the pig to scream in horror. The students gapped in silence, but they too scrambled up from their seats when the paper flee through the room like rabid birds. Tom remained in his chair, watching on with interest at the chaos unfolding in front of him. He noticed the girl with wild hair standing in the middle of the paper tornado, her hands clutched in a fist, buck teeth biting down at her lip but the corner of her lips clearly twitching in a failed attempt to conceal a grin. Shredding any paper that dared come near him, Tom refocused on his book (not before snickering at the numerous paper-cuts on Mrs. Joch) and continued to read where he left off ("Lord of the Flies").

* * *

Hermione returned home to a small tea party awaiting her. The Browning Family from next door was there, little Bob was being jostled on his mother's lap. The young couple flashed her a toothy smile —something her father would've admired as a dentist— congratulating her on being accepted to a boarding school.

"Boarding school?" Hermione asked, taking a cookie and plopping down next to Mrs. Browning. "What boarding school?"

"Um, it's in Scotland. Harrington, I think?" her mother replied nervously, sipping at her tea.

"Harrington? How come I've never heard of it? Mom, are you sure it's not a hoax?"

"I'm sure!" her mother squeaked, taking another sip of scalding hot tea. "Might've gotten the name wrong though."

"Scotland you say?" Hermione said dreamily. She leaned back on the sofa, imagining herself in its wild beauty. She vaguely remembered visiting Edinburgh with her father when she was young. Eating ice cream on his shoulders, going around museums while sitting on his shoulders (they were the best shoulders). It's serenity and piercing, mind-clearing cold was something she has yet to forget. _I hope it's in Edinburgh_.

"When does it start?"

"September 1st. One of the professors is supposed to pay us a visit on where to buy school supplies. They do it to every scholarship student," she added quickly upon seeing her daughter's dubious expression.

"Okay," Hermione agreed with a shrug.

Eleanor Granger gave a discreet sigh of relief at her daughter's acceptance. It sure did take her a while to process what that man —Albus— had told her, but the evidence was enough to back his story up. After all, anything could convince a jittery widow ( _not yet_ , she reprimanded herself) after they witnessed 'magic' firsthand. _At least_ _Hermione would never starve_. However, at Hermione's willingness to leave everything behind (almost eagerly) Eleanor couldn't help but wonder if school was alright as she claimed it to be.

After sending the Browning family to the door (and another shower of congratulations and hugs), Hermione turned towards her mother, arms crossed, eyebrow raised knowingly.

"Harrington?" Hermione implied.

"Hogwarts," Eleanor replied softly, handing Hermione an envelope with a red stamp on it.

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

 _Minerva McGonagall_

Deputy Headmistress

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" Hermione muttered, her brows furrowing as she scanned through the enclosed list. "RobEs... _A Beginner's Guide to_ _Transfiguration_?...cauldrons and a wand!" By the end of it, Hermione's voice was high pitched with excitement. "Oh god mum, where do we _buy_ all these things?"

"Well, if you've been listening, you would've heard me," she said with a playful glare. "A professor will come by to take you." Hermione's eyes lit up at the word 'professor'.

"Soon?"

"Soon."

* * *

"Albus Dumbledore."

 ** _Oh see how dazzling youth makes you look..._**

Hermione watched the man sitting before her curiously. She looked at his odd outfit; crisp suit with a bobble-head pen tucked in the breast pocket; striped trousers with bright yellow stars painted on the hem. Her eyes traveled up to his neatly groomed (but still frizzy) white hair before shaking the outstretched hand firmly. The professor had warm hands. "Hermione Granger."

"Ah, Eleanor Granger. Hermione's mother," her mom said awkwardly. The professor shook her hands just as eagerly.

"Yes! Mrs. Granger, we've met. Lovely dress by the way," he whispered dramatically, his blue eyes twinkling merrily behind his round glasses.

"Off to Diagon Alley, shall we?"

* * *

It didn't take much effort to convince Hermione that this man truly was a wizard. Sure, he'd been oddly insistent upon keeping the Underground tickets, but even without these odd moments he gave away an aura of knowing something nobody else knew. Hermione looked up at the tall man's back with pure admiration.

"Welcome to the leaky cauldron," Dumbledore winked. He opened a shabby wooden door and invited them inside. Hermione all but bounced in, her mother close behind clutching her purse tightly.

Hermione's chest swelled up when she saw the witches and wizards (what she assumed the people were) leisurely having beverages. She saw a man at the counter stirring his soup with a stick —a _wand_ — without touching it. A plump woman in a pointy hat was reading a newspaper with moving pictures in them. _This is where I belong_ , Hermione thought. The tips of her fingers were buzzing with excitement and joy that she had finally found a place which she truly belong to.

Caught up in the moment, Hermione hadn't realised she had stopped in the middle of the pub until her mother nudged her back. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding in and continued to bounce after Dumbledore.

"G'morning Tom," Dumbledore greeted briefly then ducked under another door.

"Sir," the bartender inclined his head politely before resuming cleaning the dusty cups. Hermione managed to get a glimpse of Tom the bartender placing back the cups in the cupboards with a flick of his wrist before she was ushered out into an alleyway.

The three now stood in front of a brick wall. Dumbledore tapped at a few of them— the bricks started to open up, the gap becoming wider until it showed a view of a bustling street.

"Diagon Alley," Dumbledore chirped, walking down the narrow path with ease. Hermione followed with her mother clutching her arm tightly.

Hermione couldn't shake herself out of the initial daze upon entering Diagon Alley. There was so much to see—and Dumbledore was walking so fast! Galloglass— _Scrying_ _mirrors, enchanted mirrors, haunted mirrors_ said a sign on a leaning building with all types of boots hanging outside. _Twinkle's Telescopes –moon maps– starcharts, astronomy—Flourish and Blotts—_

"Mum, mum! I _want those_."

Hermione uttered those words for the first time in years. Those were words she did not have the privilege to say, a privilege taken away from her childhood. Her mother smiled down at her, patting her cheek affectionately.

Dumbledore took them to Madam Malkin's to have her robes fixed. Madam Malkin, a short lively woman with nimble feet soon ushered her up the footstool and began to pin the cloth to the right length.

While she waited for her robes to be finished, Hermione sat down next to a blond haired (really blond) boy, bending over what seemed like an animal picture book.

"Hogwarts?" Hermione asked haughtily. The boy grunted, flipping through the pages. An overgrown ferret chasing after a tiny blue speckled bird. "What are those?"

"Jarvey," he pointed at the ferret. "Jobberknoll."

"Oh I see," Hermione replied curtly, greatly offended by the boy's reluctance to engage in a conversation. "I'm Hermione. Who are you?"

"Draco Malfoy," the boy snapped, saving his attention solely for the book in his lap. Enraged, Hermione let out a loud huff and stormed out off the shop.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" her mother hissed on their way to Flou's rish and Blotts. She slapped Hermione's arm lightly, her way of saying 'behave'.

Flourish and Blotts was just as magnificent as she thought it would be. The rich smell of parchment and leather engulfed her (a luxurious smell considering the time they were in). Dumbledore was thoughtful enough to allow Hermione some time alone. She went from shelf to shelf, fluttering like a hungry butterfly in search for nectar.

The sight of a boy reading in the Charms section of the aisle caused Hermione's steps to falter before coming to a stop.

"Tom?" Hermione called out cautiously.

The boy's –indeed it was Tom–head snapped up at a breakneck speed, dark eyes narrowing when he caught sight of Hermione.

"What are you doing here?" said Hermione, a scowl on her face. " _Why_ are you here?"

"I just might ask you the same thing," he replied, snapping the tome shy t.

Hermione was mildly surprised that his voice came out as a deep rumble rather than the high pitched squeak boys in her class had. _He sounds like he just swallowed a_ _toad_.

"Well I'm going to Hogwarts," Hermione said, her chest puffing out proudly.

"And I suppose it never occurred to you that _I_ might be attending too? Good day," and with that he walked away.

Dumbledore and her mother found her there gaping stupidly at the empty space before her.

* * *

Licking the chocolate mint ice cream vigorously, Hermione asked "Have you ever heard of a Tom Riddle?"

"Curiously," Dumbledore replied, also devouring his share of chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts ice cream, smearing his beard brown. "Not just an hour ago before we first met, I was guiding young Mr, Riddle through Diagon Alley. Any reasons for your inquiry?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily through his glasses.

Hermione thought for a while. "Not really," she replied.

* * *

" _A History of Magic...Magical Theory...The Standard Book of Spells...One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi..._ "

With a frustrated groan Hermione attempted to close her father's old trunk. "Damn trunk!"

"Hermione, sweetheart you need to sleep. I don't reckon you'd be happy if you overslept."

"Definitely not," said Hermione. She flipped onto her bed, the ticket to Hogwarts Express tucked underneath her alarm clock next to her wand.

Long after her mother turned the lights off, Hermione lay awake in her bed, her wide eyes glowing in the moonlight like those of an owl. Tomorrow, she'd be God know where. She had read that Hogwarts was a castle; perhaps she'd be up in the Gryffindor towers, or the Ravenclaw towers, or near the kitchens with other Hufflepuffs, or perhaps even in the Slytherin Dungeons. Oh how she couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

 _One sheep, two sheeps, three sheeps..._


End file.
